


Victory and Misbehaviour

by Tricki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts antics, Quidditch, Snarky potions masters misbehaving, and also engaging in school spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tricki/pseuds/Tricki
Summary: Hecate Hardbroom does not, ordinarily, like to concede that Quidditch is a significantly more diverting sport than Witch Ball.  But it is.  She’s allowed herself to admit it today only because it is the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, and today, at last, the smart money is on her husband’s house.





	Victory and Misbehaviour

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies! 
> 
> This is a bit silly and fluffy. Set during Harry's Hogwarts years, in a version of reality where people know about Mr & Mrs Snarkfest's marriage, and our esteemed potioneers are allowed out in public together. Merlin help us all.

Hecate Hardbroom does not, ordinarily, like to concede that Quidditch is a significantly more diverting sport than Witch Ball.  But it is.  She’s allowed herself to admit it today only because it is the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, and today, at last, the smart money is on her husband’s house. 

Beyond the game itself, the spectacle is far greater.  There are banners, and enchanted serpents, and a girl wearing a roaring lion’s head, just to note a few.  Hecate is pondering this while Severus Snape escorts her to the reserved tower in the Quidditch stands, his fingers resting gently on the small of her back. 

Despite himself, Severus is bubbling with anticipation at the idea his house may be victorious for the first time in years.  Without him requesting it, Hecate has deigned to drape a plush green and silver Slytherin scarf around her neck; an uncharacteristic show of team spirit.  Severus will never admit out loud how much this gesture pleases him, but the sight is nothing short of delicious. 

Hecate sits on the wooden stand primly, her back as ramrod straight as it ever is outside of the cottage she shares with Severus.  Before she can turn to her husband to make a comment about the disproportionate number of Gryffindor supporters, Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore are clambering up the wooden stairs and onto the bench beside them.  It feels disloyal to even slightly disparage his house in front of them, so Hecate holds her tongue and files the comment away for future use. 

“Good afternoon Hecate, Severus.”  Albus says warmly to the couple. 

Minerva remarks “We don’t often see you at Quidditch matches, Hecate.” 

“I reserve my presence for championships.”  The witch drawls, a wry note in her voice that only her husband detects.  He wants to take her hand, but it would give lie to his heartless persona.  As if reading his mind, Hecate gives a quarter-turn of her head, just enough to catch his eye and give him a knowing smirk. 

 

The match is close, and thrilling, and soon everyone’s mind is too focussed on the sport before them to notice the presence of their dour potions professor’s wife.  The two teams alternate goals for the first hour.  They score often, but neither team can break away from the other.  Hecate is sceptical of Graham Montague’s tactics, but can’t deny that he’s keeping the reigning champions on their toes.  He’s brutal and cutthroat, and desperate for the victory after years of Slytherin being robbed of awards.  Hecate and Severus are not people who normally vocalise their support for popular pursuits, but the witch finds her fist balling and a little victorious growl escape her when Bletchley blocks a particularly tricky goal from Angelina Johnson.  When Malfoy, somehow, miraculously, spots the snitch before Harry Potter - seeker extraordinaire, youngest in a century - after being forty points behind for the first time in the whole match, Hecate Hardbroom and Severus Snape are on their feet thundering their applause with the rest of the Slytherin students.  Hecate feels an acutely personal sense of triumph.  She’s surprised at how much her other half’s loyalty to his house has infected her.  She touches his arm in gentle congratulations; Severus turns to her, his eyes alight with victory.  In a private place she would kiss him, if he didn’t kiss her first.  Judging from the look in his eyes, today he would have beaten her to it. 

“Slytherin has won the season, ladies and gentlemen.”  Lee Jordan says.  He’s trying to sound neutral, but his tone is heavy with disappointment.  Minerva McGonagall looks inconsolable, in a contained Scottish way.  Albus Dumbledore is smiling benignly, but Hecate knows his loyalty to his house is still well alive.  She has heard Severus’ tales of his miraculous excuses to award Gryffindor enough points to take the House Cup when Slytherin has spent the year leading the contest.

As they begin making their way down from the teachers’ box, Severus catches Hecate’s hand in his firmly, urgently.  She turns to him with a confused frown, wondering what could possibly be wrong at such a victorious moment.  Their bodies are close, their torsos brushing.  The rancorous cheers of the Slytherin supporters seem to fade into the distance.  They are alone, even though they are in a crowd.  She loves how being with him can create such a sense of space around them, as if they exist on another plane. 

“Will you stay?” 

Hecate’s face softens, and she moves closer to him, resisting the urge to touch his cheek.  “For the feast?  Of course.” 

“For the night.”  Her eyes linger on his.  

She’s considering his request carefully, trying to look at it from every angle.  She has never stayed at Hogwarts with him, as he has never shared her quarters at Cackle’s.  The two of them have grown used to spending the majority of their evenings in their cottage, with nights spent apart only as required by their work, or Severus’ extracurricular activities.  She thinks it will be strange, sleeping in another school.  She thinks it will be unorthodox to have a married couple staying here.  She’s surprised this does not bother him.  But she nods and squeezes his hand.  How could she tear herself from him when he is as close as he will ever be to boyishly buoyant? 

“How could I leave you to your own devices after such a victory?”  She replies with the ghost of a wicked smile.  It’s as if every one of Severus’ cells relaxes at her concession.  His attention is no longer captured by how long it will be before she leaves him.  Now he may truly enjoy the night ahead. 

 

When they enter the Great Hall, half the eyes in the place are on the slim witch walking beside their loathsome potions professor.  Most of them are unaware that she holds the same position in the hearts of the students at Cackle’s Academy.  There is a kind of cosmic balance about the two halves of the couple being detested by their respective students in precisely the same way. 

Albus graciously draws a chair in the air for Hecate, seating her on his left, between himself and Severus.  Hecate is privately relieved that she won’t have to get to know any more of Severus’ colleagues tonight.  Her ability to play the extrovert any longer today is negligible. 

Albus keeps up a flow of unchallenging conversation between them.  Her perceptions of Quidditch, the extent of her allegiance to her husband’s house, the very different methods of food preparation between their two schools - Hogwarts with its army of House Elves, Cackle’s with its one grumpy cook.  Severus throws glances at her, but does not seek to join the conversation.  He suspects any fondness Albus will develop for his wife will serve her very well in the future - a future he cannot guarantee he will live to see. 

At last, after the various delicious puddings have disappeared and left clear plates - silver tonight, rather than their usual gold, in honour of the victorious house - Albus rises to his feet. 

“Another year of Quidditch draws to a close.”  He says magisterially.  Hecate briefly slips her fingers into Severus’ beneath the table, shooting him the subtlest glance.  “I believe it is a fair assessment when I say that no two houses share quite the rivalry on the Quidditch pitch as Gryffindor and Slytherin.  Today, after a fiercely fought contest over the season, our friends in Slytherin have triumphed.”  Severus thinks, while the silence in the room is shattered by the boisterous cries of the Slytherin table, that Albus is rather overplaying his own neutrality on the matter.  More than that, he suspects this is for Hecate’s benefit.  Hecate is almost certainly less fooled by the routine than half the student body.  She has the best instinct for deception of anyone Severus has ever come across. 

“I might ask Professor McGonagall to pass the cup on to our Head of Slytherin.  It has spent some time in her office now.  What a healthy thing for it see the school from a fresh perspective.” 

Grumbles erupt from the Gryffindor table.  Hecate and Severus share a knowing glance.  Albus has belied his allegiance far too overtly. 

Minerva rises from her place at the table.  The cup has been sitting before her for the duration of the meal.  Hecate has watched the elder witch’s eyes comb over the gleaming trophy longingly during the idle chatter of the evening.  She can only imagine Minerva’s displeasure at surrendering the item to her house’s staunches rivals. 

‘Grudgingly’ is a kind description of the manner in which Professor McGonagall hands the Quidditch Cup to Severus.  Hecate can see the way the elder witch’s grip lingers on the handle of the trophy, like she’s seriously considering ripping it away and running.  Hecate thinks her husband has clocked this too, because his lip curls microscopically at his Deputy Headmistress, as if daring her to do so.

She’s not the only one thinking about it, either.  Half the Gryffindor team is eyeing the cup off, calculating their odds.  They wouldn’t make it, though; the Slytherins would block the door, and the Gryffindors know it.

“Congratulations, Professor Snape.”  McGonagall says between her teeth. 

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall.”  He says smoothly.  Minerva’s urge to kill skyrockets at his tone, and once again she thinks about ripping it from his hands.  But she doesn’t.  She folds her hands neatly in front of herself and forces her shoulders to relax.  The Slytherin table is so raucous that Hecate suspects they’ve used an amplification charm to annoy the Gryffindors.  Although she’d never admit it, on such an auspicious occasion she entirely endorses this course of action.

Severus returns to his place beside Hecate, setting the cup softly at the front of the table between himself and his wife.  Hecate nods approvingly at it, before turning to her husband and finding his gaze upon her.  Her mouth softens into the shadow of a smile, and below the level of the table, below the level of the students’ gazes, Hecate runs the backs of her fingers over the curve of his elbow tenderly.  He takes her hand and squeezes it.  Professor Severus Snape has never, in his many years at Hogwarts, been more carefully observed by the student body.  He only notices this when his fingers disentangle from his wife’s and his eyes turn back to gaze out over the hall… and half the student body promptly alters its eye line.  He is looking forward to having her to himself. 

Dumbledore chatters some more to the students - routine notices, a Hogsmeade weekend in the next fortnight.  Severus’ thoughts are only of marking the halls in which he has spent so many years with new memories - memories of the woman he loves. 

When the students rise from their places, Severus nods to Graham Montague, silent permission for him to take the cup to the inevitable celebration in the common room.  Montague does so, shooting his Head of House a rare and elated grin while he collects the cup. 

Hecate and Severus linger as the rest of the students file out, still surrounded by the jubilant chorus of the Slytherins.  The couple does not wish to be stuck in the middle of the crowd.  Minerva has huffed off as soon as possible, but Albus has hovered to speak to them. 

“Will we have the pleasure of your company at breakfast, Hecate?”  His enquiry is perfectly casual.  Hecate appreciates it. 

“I fear that might cause rather too much of a stir, if this evening’s response was any indication.” 

“Perhaps.  But you would be most welcome.”

“Thank you, Albus.” 

“I shall bid you both goodnight.”  He smiles, his blue eyes twinkling, always twinkling so impossibly brightly.  Alone at last in the Great Hall, Hecate takes Severus’ arm as they begin their journey to his quarters. 

First, however, he takes her in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room, telling her he wants to check on his victors.  

“I would show you the common room, but I fear the commotion you would cause.”  Severus says once they draw up to the concealed entrance.

“How sweet.”  Hecate drawls, eyes sparkling with mischief.  Severus, in a completely uncharacteristic moment of recklessness, bends forward and presses his lips to hers, his fingers sweeping over her cheek like a breath. 

“Behave.”  He drawls sternly. 

Hecate stands with her back to the stone wall, her arms folded across her chest.  Every ounce of her being is challenging him, but to what, he’s not sure. 

“We shall see, Professor Snape.”

He touches her elbow fleetingly before purring “imperium et magnitudo” and sweeping into the common room. 

The Slytherin students’ revelries halt as soon as their Head enters the dungeon.  Even the giant squid’s movements slow - it had been quite enjoying the victorious singing booming through the glass panes that look into the lake. 

The forbidding professor allows one corner of his lips to quirk with pleasure, holding his students in tense suspense before murmuring “I expect...”

He enjoys the collectively held breath in the room as they await his directive.  “Your singing to be loud enough for everyone in Gryffindor tower to hear.”  The common room erupts with cheers, and Severus turns on his heel, discreetly lifting two bottles of butterbeer on his way. 

Hecate smiles wryly at him when he returns, her eyebrow quirked deviously.  “Professor Snape.  You appear the be breaking school rules.” 

His eyes flash at her in return, and he drawls “And you, Mistress Hardbroom, appear to be loitering in the corridors after hours.” 

“You see, Professor, I have rather more power than you in this situation.” 

“In what sense?”

“Because I doubt you’ll take points from Slytherin to punish your wife for loitering.” 

Severus wants her enormously.  Something about having her here, within these walls, in this castle where he has suffered nothing but frustration over the years, is heady. 

“I will see you in my office.”  Hecate’s eyes flash wildly at him.  She looks quite as reckless as he feels. 

But of course, even in recklessness, they are both people who live for control.  They pass through Severus’ office, and the secret door within it to his chambers.  In his dimly lit sitting area, Severus sets down the bottles of butterbeer, waves his wand.  Hecate watches the two bottles decant into glasses that have appeared on the coffee table. 

Severus passes one to his wife before sitting on a battered green leather chesterfield lounge, the twin of the ones in the common room.  Hecate, in a move that would surprise those who aren’t intimately acquainted with her, curls against Severus’ side.  He smiles appreciatively at the side of her head as she sips her butterbeer, and, sensing his eyes on her, she trails her fingers softly down the inside of his thigh.  Severus kisses her cheekbone chastely.  He lifts his hand and begins fiddling with the clasp of the watch that hangs from her neck pensively. 

“Is it... odd for you?”  She turns to him.  “My being here?” 

“Exquisitely so.”  Severus drawls, his dark eyes boring into hers.  Hecate sets her drink on the table and twists towards him, taking his face in her hands.  She cannot imagine making love to her husband in her chamber at Cackle’s; the building is so strictly sexless to her.  But there is a whiff of the forbidden about Hogwarts’ sprawling hallways that inspires in Hecate an urge to misbehave.  Severus follows her lead and sets his butterbeer beside hers. 

Her dress is not designed to allow for any kind of shenanigan.  It is too fitted for her to sit astride him as she wishes.  She kneels on the couch beside him and seeks out his mouth with a kind of determined hunger that makes Severus’ normally churning brain grind to a halt.

“Cate...”  He breathes her name when they briefly part. 

Hecate’s hands are still cradling his face.  She kisses his cheek, her lips lingering against his skin.  “I love you,” she whispers.  His grip on her hips tightens, fingers pressing into the heavy brocade of her dress.  He lifts one of his hands and gently directs her face so he can meet her eyes. 

He waits until her gaze is steady.  “And I love you.”  They are words he tries to only say to her when he has won every ounce of her attention.  Her lips bend into a smile and he brings her mouth back to his. 

She resists him for a moment, eyes continuing to hold his.  “I should hope so.”  She murmurs wryly, then succumbs back into his arms.  Severus’ fingers begin to trail down her spine, undoing the tiny buttons there with practiced efficiency.  Never one to be left behind, Hecate unties his cravat, and begins to unbutton his coat.  She pushes his cloak down his arms, but he will not delay his progress on her dress by releasing her so she can remove the garment from him entirely.  She growls a little with irritation, but Severus is not without challenges.  He has not released the clasps of her belt in his haste to undress her.  He mentally chides himself.  How many times has he removed this outfit from his wife’s body?  When has he ever forgotten this step in the process?  He trails his fingers around the leather binding and begins to unfasten the clasps, but Hecate senses her advantage, pushes his hands off her, and slides his cloak and coat swiftly down his arms.  A little noise of appreciation bubbles at the back of Severus’ throat at his wife’s eagerness to disrobe him.  She is still awkwardly kneeling beside him, his priority still freeing her of her dress.  Once her hands are busily unbuttoning his shirt, he thinks it safe to return to the fastenings of her belt.  He makes short work of them before finishing the ones at the back of her dress.  Severus winds one of his arms around Hecate’s legs, the other around her back, and rises unsteadily with her in his arms.  Hecate emits a little yelp of surprise, which pleases Severus immensely.  She is not a woman who shows vulnerability easily.  He sets her back on her feet in his bedroom and slides her dress down her body with his mouth on the curve of her neck.  He mumbles the word “hair,” against her skin, and as the cool air hits her, she releases her long black locks with a wafture of her hand behind her head. 

“Thank you.”  He mumbles against her neck, eyes taking in the pleasing tumble of her long dark tresses over her shoulders. 

“My pleasure.”  She whispers, trailing her pointed nails over his scalp and tuning to kiss his helix.

“Is my objective.”  Her husband retorts wryly. 

The hand that isn’t buried in his hair is now journeying down his chest towards the buttons of his trousers.  Goosebumps are erupting over her husband’s skin.  Severus’ mouth is about to claim hers again when she notes, “You’ve redecorated.”  Severus looks past her to survey the familiar room.  He had quite forgotten how long it has been since she visited him here.  These days the room rather resembles the one they share in their cottage.  A rich Chippendale style mahogany bed occupies much of it now, where once there was a serviceable single bed and a large writing desk.  There are also signs of happiness in the room.  Photos of the pair of them grace the bedroom, all moving about contentedly in their frames, exchanging soft touches and fond gazes.  One is from their wedding day, Hecate in emerald green with her hair flowing down her back. 

“Yes, I suppose I have.” 

“I rather like the change.”  She murmurs, before taking his mouth again.  The night they spend together is more than sufficient to drive away all the past traumas and disappointments Hogwarts has held for him. 

 

* * *

 

 

Hecate awakens in the expansive mahogany bed having spent hours in a deep, sated sleep.  When she wakes, however, she finds herself without her husband.  She frowns at his absence.  This was not the way she envisaged the morning.  Her absolute intention was to press herself against his side and elicit a repeat performance from him.  She stays in bed for five minutes, waiting for him, but after that long it becomes apparent he will not return.  With her mouth pinched in irritation, Hecate rises, and goes in search of her other half.  It doesn’t take long.

“At work already, my love?”  Hecate queries, prowling into Severus’ laboratory as if she owns the place.  She is wearing a black robe he has left hanging in the wardrobe here, in case of unexpected overnight stays such as this one.  His robe is hanging over a nightdress.  She would normally dress as soon as she rises.  He knows the little performance is for his benefit, and he enjoys it, enjoys watching the fabric that usually hangs around him while he teaches gently caressing his wife's body. 

“I thought I might take the opportunity to perfect my most recent potion.”  He drawls back at her.  No matter how much he attempts to keep his voice neutral, her presence has lifted it. 

“What might this mysterious new brew be?”  She queries, ghosting up behind him and smoothing her hands over his shoulders, bringing her nose close to his neck and letting the scent of him fill her.

After a minute of receiving no answer, Hecate folds primly onto a stool that offers her a clear view of him stirring a small cauldron.  Severus barely lifts his gaze.  “A love potion.”

“You know as well as I that there is no true love potion.  Magic can only create the illusion of such emotion.”  He continues to concentrate on his work.  She waits for his gaze to meet hers again, however fleetingly, but it does not. 

“And at any rate, you are hardly in need of such a thing.”  She teases him gently. 

Severus looks up then, his face warm and open with fondness in a way most people never see. 

“Close your eyes.”  He instructs, and with a smile she wishes she could fight, Hecate does as he’s bid her.

She hears the potion being decanted into a smaller vessel, and a spoon meets her lips.  Hecate almost chokes with the burst of laughter that comes over her when the potion touches her tongue.

“Tea is hardly an original love potion, Professor.”  She smiles drily at him when she has recovered herself.

“I had thought the joke rather clever, Mistress Hardbroom.”  Severus leans forward across a table at which he has taught many disappointing students, but now finds himself gently lifting his wife’s chin.

“Your mistake, Professor, was assuming I could love you more.”  He softens, musing about the fact that he has felt content since he met her.  Before her life had seemed a long and lonely prospect.  He kisses her soundly until the only way to escalate the kiss would be for one of them to climb over the table.  They both draw a line at this.  

At this moment, however, Daphne Greengrass has the profound misfortune to enter the potions room to submit fifteen inches of parchment on the properties of boomslang skin.  She has been granted an extension after spending three days in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey after a nasty altercation with a Blast-Ended Skrewt.  The girl announces her presence by yelping in horror at the sight before her. 

The two forbidding professors spin their heads in the direction of the door.  That Daphne survives their glares is a credit to her.  Many grown wizards would not. 

“ _Out_.”  Severus draws out the word into a terrifying growl.  Daphne does not need to be told twice, and scurries out as quickly as physically possible.  Hecate wafts her fingers, causing the door to slam after the young Miss Greengrass.  For the rest of her life, Daphne Greengrass will always, _always_ , knock before entering a room.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you certain you won’t stay for breakfast?”  Severus asks as he walks her through the heavy oak doors towards the broomstick storage shed.  She is already encased in her travelling cloak, and realistically he knows he has no chance of swaying her. 

“I’m afraid I must return.”  She says, brushing her fingers over the backs of his as they walk.  The fact that they are walking, and walking slowly and deliberately is indication enough to Severus that she genuinely does not wish to leave him.  He takes some comfort from this, and takes her hand in his.  She transfers her broom from the storage room once they have reached the door.  She could have done it from the Castle.  They turn to face each other, and Hecate’s eyes have softened under the weight of leaving him.  Now the backs of her fingers find his cheek; unchecked she would happily leave them there forever.  Her husband makes the decision for her; peels her fingers from his face and kisses them fondly. 

“I love you, Hecate.” 

“And I love you.”  She replies, bringing her lips to his and kissing him deeply.  She searches his mouth with her tongue as if he has the answer to a question she can’t articulate. 

“I would appreciate if you flew carefully.”  He says it with his trademark professorial detachment, but Hecate reads the little frisson of protectiveness in him. 

She reaches up to kiss him again.  “I shall fly as carefully as I ever do when I am flying away from you.” 

“And when you are flying towards me?”  He drawls, his lips quirking a modicum. 

Hecate’s eyebrow arches.  “I am considerably less measured in my speed.” 

With a quick peck but without another word, Hecate mounts her broom and soars away from him, a knot forming in her stomach the more the distance between them grows.  After a deep breath, Severus turns towards the castle, taking some comfort in the many memories the two of them made over the past seventeen hours.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know her dress doesn't have buttons. I just liked the visual.


End file.
